So The World Is Dead: And We're Still Here
by Warpath Grizzly
Summary: Tired of authors paying no heed to your suggestions? Like post-apocalyptic settings? Then this is the story for you! A story where the reader decides what happens next.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, and welcome to the world of 'So The World Is Dead: And We're Still Here'. This story is for you, by you. Simply send us reviews or PMs of what you think should happen next, and we'll put it in. Personal avatar OCs, and OC nations are welcome, just PM us a little description of them, and we will do our best to include them.

Please note that this story is set in a post-apocalyptic world where the vast majority of deaths is an unknown viral disease. Grizzly and I also reserve the right to include our own artistic moments to add to the experience, though should one of our choices be met with heavy disapproval, we will acquiesce and remove/re-write the piece.

Other than that, it's all up to you! The lives of the nations are in your hands.

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Well, this was fucking boring. Ivan had been driving for the past five hours, and so far no survivors. No one to talk to. Every once in a while he would fiddle with the tuner, searching for a broadcasting radio station, even one that played country, but to no avail. Dead air. Not even any distress calls. If only he'd brought his iPod car charger…

The scenery didn't help. It was likewise monotonous. He already knew his lands like he knew the back of his hand (mostly because they were one and the same, mind fuck much?), and he'd seen enough of the destruction and carnage over the past few years, not including his centuries of warfare, that it had become common place as well. Soooo boooriiing…

And he still had half the trip to go! Taking the helicopter _would_ have been faster, and easier, and probably a lot more amusing, but the truck allowed him to stop and check towns for survivors, and pile them in the back if he found any. So far he hadn't which wasn't surprising so there was still plenty of room, though the guns and ammo took up a lot of space already. There would be space for his sisters when he found them, if he found them… and only if they decided to come back with him. He wasn't keen on loosing bullets however, so he might have to get them to hold the ammo: the road to Moscow had become somewhat less smooth in recent days.

Ahhhh Moscow. His beloved capital. Most of it had been razed in the missile strike, but the rest of it was…alright. If you forgot about the half collapsed buildings, and the blackened tree stumps where once there had been lovely parks, and the thousands of corpses littered in the streets, it wasn't all that bad…Okay, so the city had seen better days, but it could have been worse. Some of his people had managed to survive by escaping into the underground metro systems. After waking up from the initial blast from the missiles, Ivan had made his way towards them, fleeting pinpoints of life in this landscape of death, _his_ landscape. He'd come out of it alive, but badly damaged. Luckily, his people had faired somewhat better, those that had lived. Together, they scavenged for supplies, searched for other survivors, tried to continue this brutal business of staying alive. He'd seen plenty of people commit suicide as the realization dawned on them that there would be no rescue, no return to the life "before". From then on out it would be just them, their guns, and the Plague.

Seriously, the blond needed a distraction something fierce to stop from having these internal recap monologues.

At least he was almost at the border, the part he shared with Belarus. Ivan shivered. Belarus…Even after all of this, would she still be psychotically after him, like a rabid hound chasing a rabbit? Hopefully the death of practically all her citizens had finally brought her to her senses. That or she was more convinced than ever that to survive they must get married and become one.

A quick glance into the back of the truck confirmed that Ivan had remembered to bring the flamethrower. _Just in case._

Though he supposed he would only have to worry about that if she was even alive. That struck a cord deep within him. Sure, Belarus was kindov creepy, and also a bit annoying, but she was his baby sister nonetheless. She was tough though, she'd have found a way to survive, and so would her people.

And what of Ukraine? His older sister was also strong and resilient, but was personally a bit sensitive. Ivan hoped she hadn't changed too much over the past few years, hadn't become mentally scarred from this catastrophe. Unlikely, since he himself hadn't been spared. Too many nights he stayed up, unable to sleep, or woken up by nightmares. Too often had he considered suicide.

But that was all in the past. He'd already decided that no apocalypse was going to get the better of Mother Russia!

Ivan checked his watch. Just a little past noon. Ugh, this was going to be a long day…


	2. Chapter 2

**So The World Is Dead: And We're Still Here**

Chapter 2

"Mmmm…Uhhhh…Keep going, baby."

"Uhnn…Hah…Shut…Up, ah…"

In the months that followed the outbreak of the Plague, the world had grown increasingly quiet. Canada had always been known for its wide open spaces, and its massively unpopulated areas where one could go to have such quiet, but this was different. This was an eerie silence. The birds, crickets and frogs seemed to have run out of songs. The muskey no longer leapt from emerald depths. The screams of cute, innocent rabbits and mice no longer rang out in the fields and forests as they were snatched up by hawks and owls. The wildlife had either fled or died, and had anyone approached the log cabin in the remote reaches of the Canadian wilderness, one would naturally assume that it was abandoned. Usually.

Today, however, the sounds of grunting and moaning filled the air. How he had been lucky enough to find a whore Matthew would never know, but he was taking full advantage of this situation. The woman, who's name he had learned was Cinnamon Teal (she mustn't have been too bright to have chosen a hooker name after a bird), was currently digging her nails into his back and he'd be damned if he wasn't enjoying it. He hadn't had any in so long he was surprised he hadn't blown his load embarrassingly early. Though he would appreciate it if she stopped faking it, honestly her extravagant moans were getting a little annoying, and he really didn't feel like kissing her to shut her up. Perhaps a gag would be useful next time, if he didn't kick her out first. He could feel himself getting closer as he thrust roughly into her. He was beginning to see twinges of pain on her face, which made him feel a bit guilty. He softened up a little, but soon sped up again as he felt himself nearing the edge.

Almost...

"MATTIE!"

Finally! Release was a welcome relief as the Canadian let the waves of pleasure roll through his being. But something wasn't right, he realised, rolling off to lie beside the whore (hey, he wasn't THAT big of a dick). The voice that had called his name had been too masculine. Taking a few seconds to regain his breath, Matthew glanced over at the door.

To spy a very annoying Dane standing in the now open doorway, just barely containing his laughter.

"Get the fuck out, Chris. I'm busy."

"Not anymore you're not. I just stopped by to tell you something pretty important, but first I need to make a statement." Oh fuck… "Did you…just cum at the sound of me calling your name?"

Canada knitted his eyebrows in confusion, quickly followed by disgust, and mild embarrassment. "What? No! You just…walked in at the wrong time." Pessimistic as it was, Matt knew he wasn't going to win this one.

True to word, Denmark simply snickered. "Suuuuure. I know what I saw, and heard, Matt, and my eyes and ears don't lie."

Grumbling, the Canadian slid out of his bunk, and proceeded to pull on some pants. The whore, meanwhile, took the chance to spread herself out comfortably across the entire bed's surface, a luxury she probably hadn't had for quite some time. She ignored their presence as they, in turn, ignored her. Stepping out of the room, Denmark saved himself the awkward situation by waiting for Matthew to get dressed from out in the hallway.

Closing the door none too gently behind himself, Matthew struggled with the fly of his pants as he and the Dane walked down the creaky wooden hall. Amidst the steady thumping of their boots, Matthew heard Denmark chuckle, could imagine that shit-eating smirk.

"Shut up. She was a good lay. Besides, she has nice legs."

"I am not questioning your taste in women, though she was a bit of a butterface. Simply the irony of the timing."

"Chris, if I could kill you, I would," the Canadian replied, elbowing the wall and causing a panel of wood to slide upwards, revealing a PIN pad. He punched in the five digit code and the dead end of the hallway opened up to a hidden metal door that was most certainly everything-proof.

"And then Hans Island would finally be yours, wouldn't it?" the Nordic stated as the pair of them walked down the metal staircase into the high-tech underground facility that accompanies all cliché post-Apocalyptic movies. Matthew glared at him.

"Hans Island has always been mine," he said, his tone chilly as the high Arctic winds. The other blond smiled mischievously, not even bothering to look through the windows that lined this section of the tunnel. Had he, he would have witnessed the usual; scientists hard at work to discover some way of reversing/weaponizing what was going on outside.

"You keep telling yourself that, young one." The Canadian bristled at his words, but chose to remain silent rather than retaliate. This argument had been going on for far too long; both nations were simply far too proud and far too childish to put the issue to rest. Anyways, there was something more pressing on Matthew's mind.

"So, what am I being summoned for now?"

The Dane seemed to sober up at this question. "I'll let Steeles explain the whole story, but for the sake of suspense and intrigue, let's just say we've found something interesting."

Since the full details of the facility's schematics are long and boring, Matthew and Christensen eventually found themselves sitting in Commander Steeles's office, nibbling every so often at the complimentary bowl of wrapped candies. A remnant of the old world.

"Gentlemen," the older man began, as he often did when more than one person was keyed in on him. Steeles was a man set on traditions and formalities, which suited the nations just fine since it complimented his Sean Connery beard. No accent though. "We've just received some very interesting information. Our scanners picked up an anomaly in the Wastes just on the other side of the border. The signal matches that of your kind, and we believe that it might, in fact, be America."

The two blonds were silent for a moment with Denmark looking at Canada, and Canada looking at the stapler on the desk. The European was about to put his hand on the other's shoulder and shake him, when Matthew smirked, a half-hearted attempt that could not hide his relief.

"My brother…is alive." It sounded as if he didn't quite believe it himself. After all, at _least _ninety percent of the American population was dead. It wasn't an unfounded doubt.

"Well, we aren't _entirely_ sure, Canada (again with the formalities), but…the signal does contain traces of your own signature."

So it was either Alfred, Arthur, or Francis, then. Out of all those choices, Alfred was the more likely since his brother hadn't told him any other nation was visiting when the…disaster occurred. Raising his head to look at the human with determined eyes, Matthew stated, "We'll leave immediately."

"We?" the Dane questioned, though he knew he was going to get press ganged into it anyways.

"Yes, we. How soon can you have Jay ready?" Canada asked the Commander, sounding anxious but still polite. Some habits die hard.

"As soon as possible."

"Well, this is…odd," Matthew heard Denmark say over the radio as their plane was lifted up to a forty-five degree angle. The two nations were suited up in the jet, and were just going over the last of the checks before take off. "Matt, this is odd."

"You only find it odd because the railgun is a new technology. Is everything clear back there?"

"Yeah, but I'm still not su-"

"Good. Open the hangar doors and prepare to charge," the Canadian called over the radio. Above them, a section of the roof began to pull away, revealing the cloudy sky above. Once that was complete, the ground crew began to charge the railgun. Christensen was still having second thoughts when the green light came on.

"Ready for take off, sir?" a female voice asked over the headset. Denmark made a mental note of finding her and charming her into bed later.

"We're all set, Alanna. Thank you," Canada said. Alanna…Denmark wasn't certain he'd ever done an Alanna before.

"No problem, sir. In three, two, one, clear."

Denmark really wasn't prepared for what happened next.

In the split second it took for the current to pass through the magnetic field of the rails, the jet was being launched through the air and into the sky, the engines firing just as their original velocity decreased. After a minor change of course, the blond nations were headed south towards the anomaly and, hopefully, Alfred.

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><p><span>Note From Blaklite (and Grizzly in spirit)<span>: So, chapter two. Yeah. Shit's going down in North America. Also, the Cinnamon Teal thing is an inside joke among some friends of mine. Thank you Canadian Museum of Nature and your wonderful stuffed bird collection.

To those of you who gave us suggestions, **don't worry**. We haven't forgotten. We just don't want to rush and have everything thrown into the story at once and then turn on the blender and hope it tastes good. Next chapter we will begin to introduce OCs, and hopefully we will get it right (if our interpretation of your OC isn't to your liking, just let us know what you would like to change and we will correct it).

So please review and let us know what and who you want to see next. No matter how crazy. I dare you.


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